


This Jaded Vessel

by A_J_Crowley



Series: The Good Book Of Omens [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Body Image, Body Worship, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Scars, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Conscious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Shyness, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), golden scars, stretch marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_J_Crowley/pseuds/A_J_Crowley
Summary: In the warm, candlelit glow of a little bookshop in Soho; an angel and a demon discover one another.It's a tentative venture, at first. A fleeting graze, a delicate touch. Never too fast. They have the promise of eternity to spend all the time they need mapping out their partner's Earthly corporation.But when Crowley discovers the golden gleam of scars marking Aziraphale's skin, he is left reeling at the implications. Of course, misunderstandings often provide the best opportunities for heartfelt revelations and long-withheld confessions of love.Summed up as: Aziraphale is self-conscious of his body. But when Crowley discovers Aziraphale's 'imperfections', he makes the ineffable decision to show his angel just how beautiful he truly is.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Good Book Of Omens [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1487606
Comments: 14
Kudos: 197
Collections: Crowley and Aziraphale Fics, Crowley x Aziraphale, The Good Omens Library





	This Jaded Vessel

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! Hope you enjoy this fluffy fic, inspired by Drawlight's Good Omens advent calendar.  
> This refers to prompt number 25: 'Love'. 
> 
> I've wanted to approach this situation for a long while now in one of my fics, and I'm delighted I finally got round to it! I believe it's important not only to establish this for the characters within the story; but also to show that all body types, no matter what shape or size, are beautiful and deserving of reverence. 
> 
> Additionally, I'd like to offer special thanks to robynthemagpie_writes for proof-reading this fic! <3

In the hazy wane of winter’s twilight hours, an angel and a demon lay grappled in familiar embrace. They nestle against one another on a cosy sofa miraculously tailored large enough for two; noses grazing, fingers entwined in messy reunions of pale digits tinted rosy by the warmth of their partner’s skin.

They had held each other for what had seemed like hours, the pattering of sleet on the bookshop’s windows a lullaby of comfort; a promise of sanctuary, of certainty, of _peace._ No one would disturb them tonight, not with the scarlet curtains drawn and the flicker of candlelight casting bewitching shadows to prowl along the walls, deterring anyone who would dare enter such sacred ground.

A consecrated domain sealed with the divine promise of eternity. Of immortal eyes that had seen the birth of time and would watch it run out… together. _Always together._

“I love you so much, angel.” Crowley whispered through barely parted lips, his breath cold against Aziraphale’s ear, akin to the serpentine blood coursing through his veins. The Principality shivered with a little puff of laughter; cocooning the demon against him; enshrouding them both in a gentle layer of divine warmth that positively melted Crowley in his arms.

“And I you, my dear boy…” the angel replied with a note of adoration, running his hands down the sloping arc of Anthony’s spine, his fingers twisting at the fabric of the night shirt and leaving ripples of dark silk in his wake.

Crowley smiled. It was a rare, beautiful thing. Aziraphale cherished it; marvelling at the way it dimpled the demon’s cheeks; the tiny points of sharpened teeth biting into the delicate bulge of his lower lip with a gleam of ivory.

_Magnificent. Gorgeous. Perfect._

The angel shook his head, taking in the summertime elegance of his partner’s face – the shallow ravine of his chin, the sun-kissed shores of his golden-sand eyes, the russet locks of flaming hair that danced about his head in swathes of tussled locks; a halo of their own making.

_Breath-taking. Utterly, irrevocably so._

“Angel… what is it?” Crowley’s voice murmured with a twinge of worry. Aziraphale checked himself, aware that he’d been staring at the demon for longer than would be considered polite.

“Oh, it’s nothing, my dear.” He soothed with a grin, teasing a wayward strand of hair from Anthony’s forehead. He topped it off with a tender kiss to the temple, and Crowley practically purred in contentment as he drew Aziraphale closer to nuzzle at his neck.

It had taken so long for them to have this. This intimacy of contact. For the past six thousand years, affection had been dished out in stolen moments; brushing fingertips and fleeting glances; a hand swiftly passed through a candle’s flame – too afraid to linger for more than an instant for fear of being burned.

Now, all they had was time. An eternity to love. To discover. To tentatively map out the landscape of each other’s corporations, for however long they so desired. _Never too fast. Never to slow._ Such was the privilege of their fragile divinity.

“You’re so beautiful.” Crowley whispered; his voice muffled against the soft curve of Aziraphale’s shoulder. His hands slid down the angel’s side, tracing the hem of the coarse pyjamas that fell about his curves, an errant stroke brushing a portion of bulging skin that poked out the bottom of the night shirt, right at the handle of his hip.

Aziraphale froze, his cherubim face distorting with a look of discomfort.

Crowley noted the reaction and removed his hand with a start. He’d only grazed the edge of angel’s stomach, but he was aware that Aziraphale was somewhat bashful about his corporeal body. He didn’t want to scare him away by moving at a pace the angel would not be comfortable with.

“I’m sorry.” Crowley offered with an apologetic little grimace; voice very nearly trembling. “Angel, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright. You did nothing wrong, dear boy.” Aziraphale interjected softly, pulling back the cotton blanket draped about them to reveal the little bulge of chub rimming the edge of his waistband. “I just didn’t want you to feel the… imperfect edges of me.”

The demon blinked.

A pale globe of skin rose in a little arc to form Aziraphale’s belly, the porcelain flesh chequered with scars gleaming golden; holy strokes of sunlight cutting through the perfect canvas of his abdomen.

Curiosity piqued, Crowley reached out, but stilled himself a moment to wait for a sign of affirmation. Aziraphale granted it with a cautious nod, and the demon carefully lifted the striped shirt to reveal a myriad of scars tracing the generous curves of his partner’s body.

They glittered faintly in the dim light of the bookshop; some like jagged claw marks that had long since healed; standing flush against the skin; others webbing across the pale expanse like fingers of lightning freeze-framed against the sky.

Crowley frowned, rubbing his thumb over the markings with such intricate delicacy Aziraphale couldn’t help but tremble under his touch.

When the demon finally spoke, his voice was hushed; barely audible above the cacophony of winter’s melodious harmony raging just outside the windows.

“Angel, what… what _happened?”_

The question was a broken thing. Confused and furious and tainted with so much sorrow, it made the Principality’s heart ache. Crowley was trembling, his words flowing thick and fast now; each more frantic than the last.

_“Who… who did thisss to you? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you! Protected you! Maybe… maybe I could have sssstopped it from happening!”_

The demon’s utterances snared with a whine in his throat. He looked to be on the verge of tears; his lower lip wobbled dangerously.

Aziraphale hastily shushed him, cupping Anthony’s quaking hand in his own.

“No one hurt me, my love.” The angel explained tentatively, cheeks reddening in a pastel blush. “Those scars aren't what you think they are. They’re… a result of the skin being pulled too tight, too quickly. When the body grows or… or you put on a bit of weight, they sometimes appear. The humans refer to them as stretch marks.”

Crowley calmed under Aziraphale’s grasp. He stared at his angel now, watching with wide, golden eyes as Aziraphale withered with each word, curling in on himself like a flower sealing its petals to the dark.

A hot pulse of embarrassment radiated from him; shame mingling at the torn edges of a memory dragged into the light. A recollection of violet eyes and belittling words, spoken from a sacred tongue dripping with venom.

_Lose the gut, Aziraphale!_

“I…I’m not like I was _Before,_ Crowley. I was a warrior in Heaven, but down here, I traded my sword for quill and parchment. I indulged in Her creations and allowed them to change how _they_ see my corporation. How I present myself. These scars mark me. Reveal my imperfections. My unthwarted temptations… I bear them because they remind me that I am not the creature I once was.”

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, before adding with a stuttering mumble, “I…I’m sorry if I disappointed you, my dear. You… you shouldn’t have to see me like this. This jaded vessel. It’s not very becoming of an angel…”

With the death of his words, silence descended. Even the steady, grounding thud of falling sleet faded with a gasp from the wind. Crowley sat frozen; serpent eyes now fully exposed, the thin slivers of white banished beneath the sockets. He let out a panting breath, as though he had been holding it inside for centuries.

Aziraphale turned away, head lowered in shame and self-loathing. He couldn’t bring himself to search those golden depths. To see the _disgust_ … the _pity_ … that would surely be infesting the demon’s unyielding gaze.

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so _sorry,_ my love…”

 _“Angel…”_ Crowley’s voice warbled, as he reached out a gentle palm to cup the Principality’s cheek. Aziraphale shrugged it away.

 _“Please… please don’t call me that, Crowley!_ I’m not deserving of such a term! I’m not innately _good_ like the others! I don’t sing in the ethereal chorus. I don’t pray like I should. Instead, I lie and sin and I bend the rules against _Her_ will. I’m not an _angel._ I’m… I’m not even _beautiful--”_

 _“Aziraphale!”_ The demon’s interjection was a loud, angry hiss. The Principality reared back in surprise, halted from his cosmic nosedive as instinct betrayed him to be still.

Crowley’s wings were exposed; brilliant impressions of the cosmos lofted above him, almost intimidating in their grandness. They jittered in irritable little flaps as he crowded forward, trapping Aziraphale’s hand in his own; the pressure not enough to hurt, but resolute, nonetheless.

“My foolish, stubborn angel. Forgive my choice of language… but that’s _fucking_ bullshit.”

Aziraphale flustered, a flare of annoyance shadowing his features; slackening his jaw until it dropped open, unhinged from its set like a nutcracker worn out from the strength of its bite.

Sensing the opportunity, Crowley hurriedly continued before his partner had a chance to recover.

“Yes, you are not exactly a saint, Aziraphale. You and I both know that you can be a bastard at the best of times. But you are still more deserving of Her love than any of those holier-than-thou assholes who would rather stand back and watch humanity burn… watch _you_ burn… than to do a damn thing about it! To question! To even _try!”_

Crowley was shaking; his shoulders quaking in small hiccups as he desperately tried to withhold the sobs clamouring in the back his throat _._

_The memories… Too much! It was all too much!_

He released Aziraphale’s hand, shifting his arms and wings to encompass the angel in a protective veil of gleaming starlight and night-black feathers. He buried his face in the crook of his neck, planting delicate kisses along the skin; each touch toiling the cracked soil of the heart, scattering seeds of adoration in the wreckage of dehydrated bones and splintered feelings.

“And even more than that… you _are_ beautiful! So very perfect, my love.”

Aziraphale felt something inside him crack. A dam wall of pain and degradation crumbling like the scorched ruins of Alexandria; scattered to the dusts of ancient Rome. Tears spilled, saturating the wreckage; and he clung to the demon, crying softly as Anthony continued to whisper; insistent and sincere into his ear.

“You are gorgeous, Aziraphale; each and every part of you. _My walking sunlight. My guardian angel. Love of my life…”_

At this, Crowley knelt, fingertips roaming over the gleaming patchwork of scars, his touch lighter than the beat of a butterfly’s wing. Aziraphale shuddered, gooseflesh roused in the subtle wake of contact. He wanted to pick at the threads of reality; rearranging them until the world became nothing more than a sensation of soft, reverent grazes adorning his imperfections; the demon punctuating each stroke with a kiss.

 _“Gorgeous.”_ A brush of parted lips against his collar.

 _“Splendid.”_ A nail tracing the groove of a scar.

 _“Dazzling.”_ A feather delighting the skin of a chubby hip.

 _“Perfect…”_ A breath against his mouth. Tempting. Divine. _Sacred._

_Closer. Come closer…!_

Aziraphale gasped; a wild spasm of air pushed forth from constricting lungs as rich, lapis-lazuli eyes fluttered open to stare into the amber depths of Crowley’s gaze, now inches from his own. He looked positively enraptured; bathed in an ecstasy of tranquillity as he bowed in the dim flicker of stuttering candlelight; ivory fangs nipping at the bud of his tulip mouth.

_His demon was everything. The original tempter. The embodiment of sin. Diluted chaos. The wiles of midnight. A memory of starlight. Of creation. Of eternity. Of love!_

_He was all Aziraphale would ever need. His corporeal body an ouroboros to symbolise the blessed oath of their forever._

And then… a kiss. The angel melded into it, meeting the demon at the halfway point between the fractured divide. Red apple lips as alluring as forbidden fruit moulded against his. _Gentle. So very gentle…_

They explored each other for a moment, slowly, reverentially, never straying too far, nor treading too fast. Each movement a holy blessing; sanctifying every imperfection in the glory of _Her_ name.

 _If it be a sin to love this way; to love him; then let me Fall._ Aziraphale declared in silent prayer, knowing God would be listening. _I will renounce the beguiles of grace to remain by his side. This day, and all days that follow. Your Heaven holds no beauty. My stained-glass temple is here. It’s him..._

Crowley broke touch first, sensing the wet fall of Aziraphale's tears against his heated cheeks.

“Hey… S’all right...” he murmured, using his thumbs to tenderly brush them away.

Aziraphale strained a chuckle. “I… I just can’t fathom how you could love me every part of me. I’m…”

 _“Beautiful.”_ Crowley stated with a note of defiance, leaving no room for argument. He was looking at Aziraphale now. _Really looking._ Eyes cloaked in a misty gauze as he inspected both the physical plane, and the ethereal. A dual sight to reveal both the angel’s corporation, and the blinding light of his true form, all at once. _His very soul._

Crowley gasped; a sob escaping him as he took in the spinning wheels of fire. The untethered expanse of wings shrouding thousands upon thousands of glacial blue eyes; of orbiting halos; of the scared embodiment of light itself. All existed in the ether; blazing on gleaming marionette strings attached to the soft form of _his_ angel.

_How could Aziraphale not adore such a form? How could he not cherish every curve; every mark? They were apart of him. A vestibule housing the most valuable thing in Crowley’s world. His stunning, strong, kind-hearted bastard._

“I love you, Crowley…”

The words caught the demon short; pulling at the tether, beckoning him back to the bookshop. To a comfy sofa bowed cosily under their combined weight.

Aziraphale’s arms were around him now; warm breath ruffling the locks of Crowley’s mussed hair; sheepish fingers smoothing the feathers of his wings.

“I love you.” He repeated in a breathless whisper, as Crowley copied the notion, his hands roving the curve of Aziraphale’s back; tracing the intricate pattern of his tartan pyjamas.

“I love you _more…_ ” the demon echoed; leaning into the embrace.

Aziraphale smiled. He felt like porcelain in Anthony’s grasp. Vulnerable yet desired; shielded by the sincerity of his adoration.

And for the very first time since the start of all things that had come lumbering onto this lonely planet called Earth, the angel cherished his vessel. Because it was _loved._

_He was loved._

Adored by the one being in the grandness of Her creation that could make the eternal promise of his infinite life seem worth living.

***


End file.
